


Troubled Souls

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: DaredevilContinued, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 03, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: "A little ritual, a little ancient wisdom, not the worst medicine for a troubled soul." - Father Paul LantomMatt and Karen go to church. Post-DDS3.





	Troubled Souls

The familiar scent of incense wrapped itself around Matt Murdock as he walked through the doors of Clinton Church, trying to shake off the tiredness that dogged him. It was much too early to be awake for someone who had spent the night chasing darkness on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

The 7:30 Wednesday Mass, Sister Maggie had suggested, and something curled inside her voice made him vow to show up.

Outside, the streets were swarming with stone-faced commuters, with honking taxis, with screeching buses. But the city’s shrieking retreated in the echoing stillness of the sanctuary. A dozen heartbeats, a few sniffles from spring allergies, the vibration of someone’s phone on silent mode — these sounds were reassuring instead of jarring.

He started down the long aisle toward the front of the church, wondering if Maggie — would he someday be able to think of her as _Mom_, even if only in his head? — would be here herself or if her duties at the orphanage would prevent it. He had gotten the sense that the reason for her suggestion was something other than the tentative reestablishment of their relationship.

Matt was tentatively reestablishing his relationships with everyone these days. His friends, his superpowered colleagues, the New York bar. It was a groveling spree of unprecedented proportions. He tried not to chafe against the desire for everything to go back to how it was before he blew it all up. Broken trust would take longer to repair than his broken body had. (And if his body wasn’t fully healed either, well, that was something he wasn’t letting himself think about just now.)

Beyond the altar, he could hear the priest dressing in his vestments as the time for Mass drew near. Matt had not yet met Father Rivera, and he was curious about him. It would be a difficult assignment, not just trying to replace Father Lantom in his ministry and outreach to the community, but to confront the legacy of a genuine martyr, murdered in his own church as he protected another.

Matt stopped short in the aisle as the train of his thoughts and a familiar mix of scents collided. He had noticed it earlier, amid the heavier odors of incense and candle wax, but not expecting her to be attending an early morning, mid-week Mass — or any church service at all that wasn’t a funeral — he’d assumed his mind was playing tricks on him.

Now the particular combination of smell and taste and sound was unmistakable.

Karen.

The pew nearest him was empty, so he genuflected and took a seat. He was a couple of rows behind her, and his mind was racing. Should he speak to her? Or had she intended this as a quiet retreat that he was ruining?

As the big, round sound of the organ filled the church, he realized there was one possible way to make her aware of his presence without forcing her to respond.

He stood with the scattered congregation, opened his mouth and began to sing.

* * *

Karen had turned almost immediately to look back at him — he wasn’t the greatest at carrying a tune — as her heart thumped in recognition. And, later, when the congregants began exchanging the sign of peace, she slid in next to him.

“What are you doing here?” she murmured as he moved over to give her more room.

His first instinct was to supply some kind of non-answer, but he thought better of it. “Maggie,” he whispered back.

She exhaled a slightly amused little huff, and he got the sense that it meant, _Me too_.

They didn’t speak again after that, letting the ritual of the Mass continue to wash over them. Matt hadn’t been to an everyday service in a long time, though he’d listened to many when he was sleeping off his sins in the church basement. He’d even started to get used to the changes in the English translation since his childhood. No matter the state of his faith, Matt had always found the liturgy comforting, the rhythms familiar from his earliest memories, bathed in the colors of stained glass.

He tried not to think about the fight with Ben Poindexter, or of the thick metallic smell of Father Lantom bloody before the altar. He knew blocking out those thoughts must be hard for Karen as well. She had been quietly sitting through the service before, but near the end of the Mass she moved with him to kneel. There was something about the feel of her next to him, head bowed and hands clasped, that tugged hard at his heart. But her breathing signaled that she too had found a measure of peace.

* * *

After, they walked out into the sunlight, not quite touching.

“Was this some kind of setup?” Karen asked dryly. “Just so you know, I’m not planning to convert.”

Matt laughed. “I take it you got the same suggestion I did.”

Karen took a deep breath. “After...Father Lantom’s funeral, a few members of the congregation came up to me. Told me that they were glad to see me here. That they hoped I would come back. It was…” She swallowed. “It was really touching. Sister Maggie said this service would be a quiet one. Less pressure, I guess?”

“Sounds like I’m here for moral support, then.” Matt curved his hand around her elbow.

“And here I thought it was for the singing,” Karen teased, leaning into him just a little.

Somehow, the air outside seemed fresher than when Matt had arrived at the church. He followed as Karen began to walk in the direction of Nelson’s Meats. They were going to be way more punctual than they typically were. And he could tell that Karen was craving another cup of coffee.

“That was the last thing he asked of me,” Karen said after they had walked a couple blocks in silence. “Well, the only thing.”

Matt’s hand tightened on her arm at the sadness in her tone. “Father Lantom?”

“When I was hiding in the basement, he asked me to come up for Mass. And then I brought hell down on his head.” Her skin was flushed, the threat of tears suddenly thick in her voice.

“No,” Matt said, maybe too forcefully. “Fisk did that. Not you.” He felt a little relieved to be able to say it. It had weighed on him, in the days after Fisk’s defeat, that he hadn’t been able to reassure her in that crypt. He had worked so hard to hollow himself out, to become the weapon he needed to be to tear Fisk apart, that he’d had little to offer her except bitterness and pain.

And even so, Karen had given him so much — her concern, her painful secrets, her angry assurance that she wouldn’t leave him — that it brought him right back to life, like a drowning man coughing up water from his lungs and taking a first gulp of fresh air. She’d set him on the right path, even if it had taken him a little more time to realize it.

As they continued to walk, Karen shook her head and let out an airy, humorless laugh. “It’s stupid, but I guess I thought Father Lantom would appreciate this. That it might help...make it up to him.”

“He would tell you there’s no need for penance, Karen,” Matt said carefully. “But he’d probably also say that it can be healing, if you let it.”

“I think I’m getting that.” She breathed out, seeming calmer. “Even if I can’t quite believe.”

“Does that mean you’ll be coming back?”

She laughed a little at the pointedness of the question. “Hmm...Magic Eight Ball says, ‘Ask again later.’ How about you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I haven’t made it a weekly habit in years. And it’s...strange to have someone else saying Mass.”

Karen reached over to press her hand against his. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Matt swallowed down the ache in his throat. “But it’s always good to show support...for someone new.” He turned his head in her direction. “And my...Maggie would probably approve.”

They both kept counsel with their own thoughts after that, not speaking again until they had almost reached the butcher shop-plus-law firm.

“You go on,” Karen said, starting to pull away. “I think I’m going to treat myself to a latte this morning.”

Matt smiled. “Father Lantom made a mean latte himself, you know. Closet barista.”

Karen tilted her head. “I’ll drink it in his honor, then.”

“I could—”

“No, that’s OK,” she said hastily, and he knew she needed the time alone. “Do you want me to bring you something?”

“I think I’ll take my chances with what’s brewing inside.” He stopped as they arrived at the doorstep of the Nelsons’ shop. “Just don’t be too hard...on your latte. It doesn’t deserve that. I know for a fact that it’s a wonderful...coffee-flavored beverage.”

“I’ll see you later, Matt,” was all she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice, and a tiny chuckle mixed with her footsteps as she walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Other than [a few drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566098), this was the first thing I wrote after finishing Season 3. I haven't posted it because it's technically the first chapter of a longer fic. I'm still hoping to actually write it!


End file.
